


Epiphany

by servantofclio



Series: Chances and Second Chances [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Reaper War over, the time for rebuilding had begun. Garrus returned to Palaven alone, but he wouldn't remain alone forever. (Prequel to my story Second Chances, focusing on Garrus' life on Palaven and the woman he met there. Additional vignettes may follow here.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> While writing Second Chances, I spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of turian woman Garrus might come to love and marry. His late wife is mentioned frequently in that story; this is a glimpse (possibly a series of glimpses) of their life together.
> 
> This particular installment takes place in late 2188, which makes it a parallel to my story "Lucky" (which focuses on Shepard and Kaidan).

Garrus had been gone ten days, this time.

 

Melia had known the man for less than a season. It aggravated her that she worried this much about him. How had she managed to get so attached? It had been just a chance meeting at a tremendously stuffy function; she hadn’t even realized that the only person within earshot who’d laughed at her quiet jokes was the much-talked-about Vakarian until they’d called him up to get the oversized piece of metal they were honoring him with.

 

She hadn’t even heard of the Reaper Task Force until right before the invasion, but plenty of stories had gotten passed around the Palaven resistance forces _during_ the war. Somehow she still hadn’t expected the task force’s commander to be her own age and wry and self-deprecating. She’d accepted that first offer of drinks on a whim, expecting to have a bit of fun, nothing more.

 

She hadn’t expected to spend half the night just talking. Hadn’t expected that first date to lead to another, and another, and another; hadn’t expected to hear things from him so personal she couldn’t imagine he’d told anyone else. Hadn’t expected that within a few months she’d be counting the days since he’d departed on a covert mission.

 

She’d served the Hierarchy all her adult life. Been a good citizen. She’d done her share of time in combat zones (who hadn’t, during the war?). To be turian was to serve. Her expertise was putting people back together. His was killing people. A necessary skill, and she knew there was a lot of unrest and piracy, even with the war over. Her work was here, his was out there.

 

Didn’t mean she had to like it.

 

_Call me as soon as you’re back_ , she’d said. _I don’t care what time it is_. And after the first mission, he’d called in the middle of the night, true to promise.

 

This time, on the tenth day, the call came late in the afternoon. Fortunately, she’d just finished stitching up a deep cut on an eight-year-old’s arm and sent child and parent on their way, so she could answer immediately.

 

“Hey, Mely.” He sounded tired but at ease, and most of her own worry fell away.

 

“You’re back,” she said, subtones buzzing with relief. “In one piece?”

 

A chuckle. “More or less.”

 

“What does _that_ mean?” she demanded, alarmed.

 

“Oh, you know. Got a little banged up.”

 

She scowled even though he couldn’t see her. “Details, Garrus.”

 

“Couple of fractures, took a round in the arm. It’s fine.”

 

She pulled up the rest of her day’s schedule on her terminal. Readjust and reassign a couple of things, which wouldn’t overburden anyone, and she’d be free. “I’ll be right there.”

 

“I’ve already been treated, Mely. It’s fine.”

 

“We’ll see about that.” She closed everything down and grabbed her coat and filter mask, checking to see what the daily dust alert was like. “You’re at home? It’ll only take me a few minutes to get there.”

 

It was unseasonably cold outside. Dust, again. The rubble of destroyed buildings, destroyed land, destroyed lives filtered the sun into a wan, disagreeable russet shade. She had a cousin working on the atmosphere mitigation team—crucial work, since the climatic changes could be hazardous to plant life, and therefore disastrous to the entire food chain—but the science of it was beyond her. It seemed like they had clear days a little more often lately, though.

 

She wore her mask anyway. No point in getting any more crap in her lungs than necessary. She’d already been seeing more respiratory infections this year than the average. No surprise there.

 

His door must have been keyed to let her in; the scanner blinked green at her, and chimed as she passed through. She found Garrus propped up on the couch, bandaged leg stretched out along it. “Mely, you really don’t need to—”

 

“Let me see,” she interrupted, shedding her mask and coat. “What are you even doing out of bed?”

 

“The bone’s fused. The medic said light activity was fine. Recommended, even. Mely—”

 

His chest was bandaged, too, and his left arm was in a sling. She opened his shirt, relentless. “I want to see for myself.”

 

“Fine,” he sighed, subvocals rumbling with tolerant amusement. She flicked a mandible at him, not especially amused herself, as she pulled his sleeve back far enough to see the dressing on his upper arm.

 

She clicked her tongue in irritation. “This is leaking. What did you do to it?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Garrus.”

 

“I stumbled and bumped into the wall. It’s nothing.”

 

“Well, it’s bleeding again.” She’d finished unwinding the bandage, and clicked again. “No wonder. I don’t like these stitches.”

 

“You don’t like the... stitches?”

 

“There are different stitching techniques, and I wouldn’t have used this one on this wound.” She reached for the kit she’d brought with her.

 

“So you’re... going to restitch it?”

 

She locked eyes with him for the first time since she’d come in. “Yeah, I am, and it’s entirely up to you whether I numb it up first or not.”

 

He held her gaze for a long moment before lightly touching her left mandible. “Okay.”

 

For that, he got the topical numbing agent. Once she’d finished, she put a light layer of medi-gel on for good measure and re-wrapped it. Then she sat back, perching on the edge of the couch, and let out a long breath. “There. I don’t know what kind of field medic you have with you, but...”

 

“Hey.” He reached out with his good arm, and she let herself be drawn in, leaning against his right shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

 

“I know,” she said, trying to relax. “Just... what happened out there?”

 

He sighed. “Things went sideways.”

 

“I could guess that,” she said tartly, aware of the unhappiness churning in her lower register. “I’ve seen how much armor you wear, though, so...”

 

He sighed again. “What do you want me to say? There was a young specialist on the team who made a couple of mistakes. I lost shields getting him out, caught the round in the arm. It’ll be fine.”

 

She drew back, angry all over again. “Are you _kidding_ me? They sent you on some covert op, which must have been important or they wouldn’t have sent _you_ , and they stuck you with some damned rookie? Let me guess, has his fringe even come in yet? Tell me he’d at least finished his first tour.”

 

“Good personnel are scarce, Mely.”

 

“Good _everything_ is scarce,” she snapped, pushing herself off the couch so she could pace. “That doesn’t excuse putting some tier-three kid who hasn’t earned his place in with real experts. _Spirits_. Are we that fucking desperate? You could have been killed due to some fucking stupid personnel decision by someone who should be dropped a tier or two.”

 

As she ranted, Garrus pushed himself upright on the couch, wincing, and extended a hand. “It’s been handled. Mely. I’d follow you, but I think you’d yell at me right now. Come sit down?”

 

She stopped pacing, breathing hard. She still prickled with anger, and an extra dawning realization. She accepted the invitation and sat heavily next to him, and when his arm came around her, she tried to relax into his hold.

 

“You seem awfully upset,” he said, with care, and she winced a little. He shouldn’t have to be that cautious of her feelings.

 

“You could have been killed,” she mumbled again.

 

“But I wasn’t. I’ll be all right.” After a moment, he added, “This isn’t likely to be the last mission like this.”

 

 “I know. I’ll deal. I just... I love you, and I hate seeing you hurt by someone else’s incompetence.”

 

Garrus inhaled, and Melia realized what she’d said. She winced. “Damn. It’s probably too soon to say that, isn’t it? I know we haven’t been--  I’m sorry, I just...”

 

His arm tightened around her. “It’s not.”

 

She concentrated on calming her breathing. “It’s not?”

 

“I love you, too.” His voice was soft, almost shy; he leaned his forehead against her temple. She turned her head so they were brow to brow, eye to eye. He let out an almost soundless laugh. “Saying that was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”


End file.
